


She's pure as (New York) snow

by WeBeDragons



Series: Home of the heroes and villains [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: A continuation of the superhero au, Allison is a Bitchin Stitch Witch, Also someone gets injured enough to pass out so like, F/F, In which i continue my love affair with commas, be aware of that too, inspired by 'bette davis eyes' for which there is no heterosexual explanation, one mention of drug dealing so be aware of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-11 05:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12928347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeBeDragons/pseuds/WeBeDragons
Summary: Local Stitch Witch Meets Future Wife In A Shady Alley





	She's pure as (New York) snow

**Author's Note:**

> I made good on my threat to continue the superhero au, which is mostly crack. Wings is, as ever, the reason this fic is seeing daylight.

Allison was not a Hero.  
  
She was not a Hero, an Antihero , A Martyr, or even a Villain, no matter what Andrew might think. Allison was a Witch, and her power was drawn from the thrumming heartbeat of the inner city, the smog in the air around fifty story buildings, from shattered glass, and thread.  
  
The thread was where she made her money.  
  
Superhero suits don’t just show up with your Heroic traits, and spandex is notoriously easy to wreck when it comes to things like bullets, explosions, and angry dogs. This is where Allison comes in. She spends her days creating magically imbued outfits which flatter and protect.  
  
In some ways, she feels like a drug dealer. The first suit is always, always free. It fits like a dream, protects you from most basic weaponry, and is washing machine safe.  
  
But then. Wouldn’t you like a fire proof version? One in slightly different colors for a new story arc? One that lets you breathe underwater? All this and more could be yours, for a small fee.  
  
Hey, a witch and her girlfriend have got to eat!  
  
Allison’s girlfriend is a Hero. She’s the most Heroic of the Heroes. You might even call her a Super Hero. Renee runs a halfway house for kids just out of the foster system, and Heroes newly come into their powers. The two categories crossover far more often than one might think. Renee trains them, gets them jobs or enrolled into school, helps them find housing, and kicks their asses when it’s needed. Renee is a caretaker, and Allison loves her for it, expensive though the habit may be.  
  
After all, Renee’s hero-ing was how they met.  
  
*  
  
_Approximately four years ago._  
  
It was winter, which meant Allison was in a foul mood. Winter meant long sleeves and pants, layers, and low, sensible heels with traction because the city council didn’t feel that salting the sidewalks was a necessary expenditure. The city council was, shockingly, made up entirely of rich old men who wore loafers and were chauffeured everywhere, so Allison didn’t put much stock in their opinion when it came to pedestrian affairs.  
  
Allison's route home from her her new store location is, in a word, long. Seventeen blocks of ice, sketchy parking lots and dark alleys. It is worth it, for the shiny renovated storefront and better-than-twentieth-avenue security, but only just.  
  
  
She’s four blocks from her apartment and ready become one with her heated mattress pad when she hears it. The sounds of a struggle emanate from the alleyway just ahead. A woman's voice yells out followed by the sound of a knife on brick. She gives a deep, disgusted sigh, but hurries forward until she’s almost to the mouth of the alley.  
  
Allison halts and reaches into her purse, retrieving three fabric swatches. The first is a gold chiffon, the second is a wine red crushed velvet, and the third a black faux-leather. Perfect.  
  
She steps around into the alley entrance and flings the gold chiffon high in the air in the same motion. A globe of perfect autumn sunlight illuminates the dingy alley, showing a woman in an (absolutely horrid) orange Hero suit fighting a knife-wielding man in a cliche black hoodie. The Hero is propped against one wall, while the man is preparing to take a wild swing with his switchblade.  
  
The Hero and attacker are both blinded by the sudden light, which suites Allison fine. She steps up to the flailing man and slaps the red velvet onto the back of his neck. He crumples from the concussive force exuding from the swatch and face-plants onto the slushy ground, dazed.  
  
Finally, Allison lets the sample of faux-leather flutter down onto his back. Long straps of material appear, binding the man’s limbs and rendering him immobile in the gray snow.  
  
The Hero is still leant against the alley wall, blinking slowly while adjusting to the light and...oh those are stab wounds along one leg and her shoulder. Allison approaches the Hero with some caution, hands raised plainly in sight and relaxed. The Hero watches her warily, one hand coming up and she’s _also_ holding a knife. Lovely.  
  
Allison tries to speak lowly and calmly. “It looks like you’re hurt pretty bad, can you make it someplace safe without falling over or can I call someone for you? I have a cell phone, and I won’t come any closer if that’s what you want.”  
  
The Hero replies, her voice huskier than Allison expected. “There’s someone you can call, if you don’t mind. I’ll give you the number, a man named Wymack. And I’d feel best if you stayed there, thank you.”  
  
Allison nods. “I’m just going to reach for my phone now, it’s in my coat pocket.” The Hero gives a tight smile, just visible below her mask. “Go ahead. When he answers, tell him 'Saint William.' He'll know what it means.”  
  
After retrieving her phone, the Hero recites a number for her to dial in. Allison shifts impatiently while it rings, she can see that the Hero is growing less steady. Finally, the person on the other end of the line picks up.  
  
“Hello? Who is this? Do you fucking know what time it is?” Allison hears a sleepy mumble in the background, and then the first speaker again, a bit fuzzier, as though he’s moved away from the phone. “I am _not_ being rude! Sorry I woke you.”  
  
Allison clears her throat. “Is this Wymack? I’m contacting you on behalf of a wounded Hero, she said this was the number to call, and to tell you 'Saint William.”  
  
The man on the line swears explosively. “Fuck. yes this is Wymack. Where are you?”  
  
Allison gives Wymack their location, and it’s just about then that the Hero falls into a dead faint. Allison swears. Over the line, Wymack swears at her swearing. Allison rushes forward and falls to her knees beside the fallen Hero. When checked, her pulse is. Well it’s still there, which is good. Allison knows nothing about medicine, or healing magic and she’s regretting that fact with every fiber of her cashmere coat.  
  
She pulls the Hero’s head onto her lap, cradling her away from the icy ground. She picks up the phone from where it dropped nearby. She can still hear Wymack demanding to know what’s happened, damnit.  
  
“The Hero, she’s fainted, you need to get here as fast as possible, please.” Allison drops the phone back into the snow and focuses on putting pressure on the wound in the Hero’s shoulder. About two minutes later (which feels like twenty years) Allison hears a strange woosh and from the sky, another Hero descends. He is also wearing the terrible orange, and his eyes widen in alarm when he sees “-Renee!”  
  
The new Hero rushes over to them, his feet not quite touching the ground as he runs. He crashes down beside them and scoops the first Hero, Renee, off Allison's lap.  
  
The new Hero half turns, beginning to dash back into the sky. He calls over his shoulder,“Thanks for watching over her, got to run, sorry!” leaving a protesting Allison behind, kneeling in the snow, with a bound and slowly awakening Villain behind her.  
  
*  
  
Three weeks later and the strange events in the alley are mostly forgotten. Allison has been working on a wedding dress alteration for the sweetest bride, who chose a monstrosity of a dress. Fifteen layers of fine cream lace, and she wants the damn thing hemmed a good six inches, and the bodice taken in.  
  
Allison is disgusted.  
  
Her eyes hurt, her back hurts, her hands hurt, and she’s _so close_ to being done that she doesn’t want to get up to close the shop yet. When the door bell rings a moment later, she groans before calling out “Just a moment! Be right with you!”  
  
She reluctantly stops her Singer and carefully drapes the section of the dress she’s working on so the machine won’t pull the stitches. She runs a hand over her hair, making sure it’s all in place before making her way to the counter.  
  
There’s a young woman in the shop, with beautifully dyed hair. She smiles when she sees Allison, and it lights her face remarkably. Allison clears her throat and puts on her “oh no, an attractive customer, I will remain professional” face. It takes a great deal more effort than usual.  
  
“How may I help you today? If you’d like to make an appointment for a fitting I have several days this week where I can pencil you in.”  
  
The young woman inclines her head. “I would appreciate that, though for this commission we may need to work outside normal business hours. I have something rather special in mind.”  
  
Allison is intrigued. “I must warn you that specialty commissions usually take more meetings and material costs. What did you have in mind?”  
  
The young woman holds up a handful of sketches. The main color splashed across the pages is a horribly familiar orange.  
  
“I need a suit, Ms. Reynolds.”

**Author's Note:**

> allison is super gay and I think it really shines through here eh?


End file.
